


Born Again

by AnAverageGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Winglock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAverageGirl/pseuds/AnAverageGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel John Watson has met his other half more times than he would've liked, and now he searching for him once again. Luckily, Mike Stamford will unknowingly lead him back to the one he loves - now all he needs to do is figure out how to ease Sherlock into the knowledge of what they are to each other. Not as easy as one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this Is my first time writing a fic, so any and all comments/reviews/tips are appreciated!!<3

No one is whole. At the beginning, the original forms of people were creatures with four arms, four legs, and two faces. They were allowed to roam the Earth for a while before God decided that they were much too powerful to continue on like this. So with his almighty power, he split them instead into beings that each had two arms, two legs, and a single face; what we now know as humans. These humans were the same in every aspect as the four legged creatures except for one: They felt the need to love and be loved deep down. It wasn’t long before God realized that the two halves of the whole were yearning for each other, and that they needed to find each other to lead a happy life. He helped a few of them along now and again, but most of them managed to figure it out, and all was well.  
  
A few millennia went by until the Lord noticed a rising in the presence among the humans down on Earth, a being that left a cold, hollow feeling in his chest. Evil was arising. Worried, God decided to take some of the pairs of humans and bless them in order to help him defend the other innocent humans and the world that he had created. In his haste to create the blessed warriors, the Lord accidentally picked up a few people who still had their other halves back on the Earth.  
  
These warriors were an amazing asset to God, and with them, he managed to keep the Evil at bay for the most part. He lost one of his warriors at that point, having fallen for the dark temptations of Evil, but it was inevitable. Once things had settled down, it became apparent to him that certain warriors - Angels, they became known as - weren’t happy and spent their free time moping around upon the clouds in Heaven and trying to talk to others. Then he discovered his mistake in leaving the other part of themselves down on earth, where they were unattainable for the most part. God was smart and resourceful if he was nothing, so he was able to figure out a way to help the pairs find each other again.  
  
He sent the Angels who needed to find their human half on to the Earth to find that person and to help fight Evil from there. He also knew that the absolute death of their human half would kill them, so he decided to make it so that the humans would be reborn again and again, so the Angels would never be alone without them for long. The downside to a rebirth? The humans lost all of their previous memories of what they were and who they loved, but most Angels didn’t mind that. It seemed ingenious at the time, but the flaws only began to show thousands and thousands of years later.  
  
The Angels referred to their missing half as their Mates, their one true person whom they belong to entirely and love more than themselves at some points. The majority of the Angels got a kick out of getting to seduce their loved ones over and over, like a sort of sick, twisted game. Then, there were Angels like John Watson, who hated and despised watching his love dying; if he were forced to explain why he didn’t like it, he’d say that it was akin to losing an arm or dying himself.  
  
It left him depressed, wandering around the city, the country where he had been when his Mate died. Sometimes, he was stuck with an injury that wasn’t truly an injury but something in his mind. Psychosomatic, he believed. Over six hundred years, John had found him over ten times, and out of those ten times, he had watched the light drain from those wonderful, amazing eyes around six times. The pain and sadness never went away until he felt a familiar tug in his gut, one that whispered promises of warmth and happiness once more, leading him to his Mate.  
  
Seeing someone and remembering the little things about that person - like his laugh, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, how he looks when he cries and how his voice cracks when he’s filled with ecstasy - and then seeing the blank stares he gets when he introduces himself, thinking that you’re just another person in his life, is heartbreaking. How can someone live with that empty feeling?  
  
His Mate, in a word, was… brilliant. Wonderful. Amazing. He was always one of the smartest and most clever men in the world, but it was counter-balanced when people were unable to accept the fact that he was that amazing. They teased him, made him feel like absolute shit, and it made John’s blood boil, his fists shaking at his sides. It was left to John to make him realize how perfect he was, how utterly human he was, no matter how much his Mate tried to insist that he had no emotions.  
  
Very few things changed when a person was reborn, one of them being his or her hair. John’s favourite style was, up to this point, when his hair was cropped short and ginger, followed only second by his slicked back, black hair. His eyes, well, they were amazing, and they never stayed the same way for more than a day, from silver to green, teal to grey. All shades of his eyes were mesmerizing to the Angel, in a way where he could watch them for hours and hours on end.  
  
There was, however, one issue.  
  
He was never able to get around to tell him about what he was, and what his Mate was to him, at least, until he managed to find out another way. One time, he walked in on John healing another person, and another time his wings flickered into focus at the wrong time, and they were seen. The reaction caused by the new knowledge was not anything that John enjoyed seeing the man he loved go through. The first: Denial. This was mostly characterized by yelling, retreating into his mind, or leaving the house, the flat for at least a few hours until he accepted that John was an Angel. Then that left John with the responsibility to tell him that they were Mates - that normally goes better than most would expect. The next was Curiosity: Questions about what being an Angel and why it was him that had been ‘chosen’ as a Mate, as he put. The last phase was Acceptance. He finally understood what he was and how much John loved him, and they were able to relax and just live until…. until one of them couldn’t any more.  
  
He last saw him around thirty years ago in America, New York City. Since then, he had been waiting until he felt the tug, once again leading him to a better life than wandering the globe. America, China, France, Korea, Ireland, Wales, and finally he ended up in Afghanistan as a soldier for Great Britain. He got shot, and the military dismissed him back home, partially due to the fact that he was injured and partially because he was healing much faster than normal. Once in London, he felt the warmth spread through his system and he managed to convince the doctors to let him go and the Psychosomatic limp kicked in again.   
  
Running into his old Army buddy, Mike Stamford, had been something he didn’t want to deal with but was forced to, due to social expectations. There was small talk about life after the army, how Mike was doing now that he was apparently teaching at Barts hospital, and how John was doing after getting ‘shot.’ The answers were the norm of small talk, simply saying as little words as possible. He had to find his Mate in this city of billions, his one true love. He begrudgingly agreed to go see someone about sharing a flat (wrong, wrong, wrong, he needed his Mate), and the walk to the Hospital was more awkward than he anticipated. It ended in them talking about the new technology that was coming into the hospital and the world in general. He laughed as they walked into one of the rooms and looked around, smiling to himself and muttering, “Well, it’s a bit different from my day.” His eyes swept over the lab as he heard a familiar baritone voice boom nonchalantly, “Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no single on mine.” A new, curly head of brunet hair (God, those curls, he just wanted to run his hands through them) was bent over a microscope and John felt his heart skip a few beats.  
  
Finally.


	2. The First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned around, the sharp gleaming eyes piercing into his own and he knew that this time, he was in trouble. "No, John, there is so much more then that," he said, voice low and his eyes gleaming like those of a predator’s. The Angel stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and awe as Sherlock Holmes, the stranger he had once known inside and out, spun on his heels and left, leaving the older man with his jaw on the floor and Mike staring at him like an experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! School has been kicking my ass these past few weeks and as much as I would love to spend all my time on here writing, I can't. So here's the next chapter, I would love to hear you comments on it if you have any! Also, Apologies for all the American-isms, until I can find someone willing to Britpick my awful writing, there's not much I can do >.

John Harrison. Matthew Broadwick. Jeremy Clerk. James Putoni. Lewis Kent. David McCormith. Myles O'Riley. Stephen Widitor. Roy Martin. Hamish Smith. So many different names over the course of his lives, but there was only him, and that's all there would ever be. He was taller this time, John noted as his Mate stood up and began to talk. Talking, right, he should probably pay attention to what he he was saying. God, it was really him, wasn't it? He wanted to laugh and pull him into a hard kiss, make certain that he was here with him and wouldn't leave him again for a long, long time, but he doubted that this reincarnation would appreciate a snogging from a random stranger, now would he?

"Here, use mine," John heard himself saying as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. The first conversation and shared look with his Mate was always the best thing for him. He watched as his eyes flicked over to him, giving him the appraising loom that the Angel had had trained on him more than once before, and it sent shivers down his spine. This life would hopefully be a good one, better than the last at the very least; watching his love get shot only a day after accepting him was not something he wanted to repeat again. He offered him a half smile as the younger man took his phone and began tapping away at it.

"Sorry?" He was so mesmerized by the other’s presence in his life once more that he didn't hear his Mate ask him something - Afghanistan? 

"Which was it - Afghanistan or Iraq?" He said bluntly, letting his eyes rest on John for a split second before looking back down to the borrowed phone, typing away what was presumably a text message. John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a smile from forming as he recognized the little shifts, his tells that he was about to do something amazing. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said evenly, narrowing his eyes the tiniest bit before casting Mike a questioning glance. The other simply shook his head and when back to his own work, obviously keeping an ear out for the interactions going on. He could tell that his Mate was trying his hardest to keep himself from snapping out an irritated reply, he could tell. The slight tensing of the jaw, the mental eye roll, and the sharp glare that was directed at him. 

But it was … different than his normal gaze, the unwavering one that knew every aspect of someone's life with a glance that lasted all of four seconds. He paused halfway through, his head cocking to the side a little and his eyes darting spastically around his face and body - something was different about him this time, something big, but at the same time it was as if everything was perfect, and nothing ever goes perfectly. Something was definitely off this time. He shifted uneasily under his gaze before he spoke again, quickly, with a certain tone to his voice as if John had offended him for not unveiling himself as easily as everyone else. 

He swallowed as his Mate began to speak. "Your haircut and stance says military, but your conversation when you entered the room says trained at Bart's, so, Army doctor - obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, as though you've forgotten about it, so its at least partly psychosomatic. That reveals the original circumstance of the injury was traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Army doctor - Afghanistan or Iraq?" He paused, looking at John a bit suspiciously and feeling uncomfortable, the Angel looked over at where Mike was, only to find he was pretending to be engrossed in whatever was underneath the microscope. Before John could get in a word, the curly haired brunet (definitely one of his favorite hairstyles now) continued with a sharp tone. "I don't talk for days on end, and I play the violin when I think. Would that bother you?"

John shook his head mutely, trying to figure out what was off about this particular meeting; his Mate was acting odd. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is two two one B Baker Street," He said with a very convincing fake smile, pocketing his phone. It was like he was holding himself back from saying something, which is extremely unusual considering how little he cared about an 'ordinary' person’s feelings. He watched as he set up a meeting for them at seven and headed towards the door. John swallowed dryly and licked his lips before calling after him, "Is that it? We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

He turned around, the sharp gleaming eyes piercing into his own and he knew that this time, he was in trouble. "No, John, there is so much more then that," he said, voice low and his eyes gleaming like those of a predator’s. The Angel stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and awe as Sherlock Holmes, the stranger he had once known inside and out, spun on his heels and left, leaving the older man with his jaw on the floor and Mike staring at him like an experiment. 

"Well, that was unusual," Stamford murmured, taking a step towards John. "He doesn't get that friendly with people that quickly."

"That was friendly?" He scoffed convincingly, shaking his head and twiddling with his cane in one hand. 

"Yeah, for him." Mike laughed, shaking his head and leading John out the door once more, explaining the new rooms and equipment in Bart's which were interesting, really, but he had other things on his mind at that point. 

The rest of the tour was lost to John, his mind repeating the name over and over in his is head: Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. Such a perfect name for him, now that he knew it. It wasn't one he would've been able to guess if he had all the time in the world, but he couldn't imagine anything else for him in this life. 

He bade his old friend farewell and stopped by a few stores for a simple lunch of a sandwich and a coke, and to get some necessary shopping done. Around six, he limped back towards the flat where he was staying for the time being, a small cramped thing that his army pension could just barely, afford, but he knew he wouldn't be dealing with it for much longer. He was bound to move in with his Mate before the week was up, and then the real work would have to begin - yes, trying to find him wasn't the real work in this case. When his Mate was as observant and knowing as Sherlock (the name really was perfect) was, it took a bit more effort to keep what he really was hidden for as long as he could. As he said earlier, it was never long enough, but hopefully it would last a little longer this time, not to mention he had to act as if he didn't know everything about him, like the way he took his tea. That one was the cue that had ended up causing him the most problems with Sherlock; when he got something as trivial as that right, he began to realize the other things John knew. Like how to deal with his annoying older brother who seemed to reappear in every single life - he planned on figuring that out soon. Or where he liked to keep his cigarettes. This time around, John would work as hard as he possibly could to stay hidden. There was something different this time around, and he had a bad feeling that 'something' would end very badly for the both of them.

"Shit," he murmured, catching a glance at the clock. It was already ten till seven, and 221 B Baker Street was at least ten minutes away at most - way to make a good impression, Watson.

Luckily, Sherlock arrived around the same time he did, a few minutes later than they should've been. He smiled at him warmly and offered him a hand, leaning heavily on his damned aluminum cane. It was an old thing, something the army threw at him after he got shot and was sent home, away from the distraction he needed so badly. He had a sort of bittersweet relationship with the thing; without it, it was a time where he was with his mate, and with it, it was a way to signify his sense of loss and pain for him. He pulled himself out of his thoughts as Sherlock grabbed his hand, electricity shooting to John’s very core at the simple feeling of Sherlocks hand on his, even through the black gloves he was wearing.

"Mr. Holmes," He greeted with a soft and warm smile as always when dealing with Sherlock.

"Sherlock's just fine," he said tightly, a forced smile barely crinkling his eyes. "Shall we go inside?"


End file.
